Falling
by TechnoRanma
Summary: On the verge of bankruptcy, the British Empire is falling. At the same time, the USA finds out what it's like to fall in an entirely different way. Hitting rock bottom only means you have to fess up to what's at the bottom of your heart. USUK  1 of ?


A/N: Something a bit less humorous than my other fics. Originally this was being written for last year's LJ usxuk community secret santa, but it didn't work out. Now I just wanted to try my hand at a canon universe story. No established relationship, vague romance, USUK.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, and I'm making no money from this!

* * *

**Falling**

* * *

The meeting ended in a flurry of shuffling papers and scraping chairs. America pursed his lips contentedly and took his time collecting his things. He watched with offhand interest as his new boss said his goodbyes to the British delegates. One by one England's officials filed out of the large room and America sat up straighter when he noticed England himself (attaché case in hand) fall into line right behind them.

America quickly tossed the remainder of his belongings together and got up, saying a fast thanks to President Truman, before he strode swiftly after the group of visitors hoping they hadn't gotten too far.

He really didn't have to worry.

The nation's feet came to a halt just outside the government building and he couldn't help smiling a bit mischievously. "Hey, England. Were you _waiting_ for me?"

England scoffed; glancing pointedly as he pushed away from the pillar he had been leaning (and waiting) on. "…Don't read into it." The island nation explained.

"You have this dreadful habit of needing to speak to me after meetings. I figured I might as well get it over with– the sooner the better, and all that, you know."

"Habit? It's more like a pain." America rolled his eyes, but strolled closer, joining the other nation as they started walking into the city. "So, England, I was thinking…"

"Hah!"

America chose to ignore that. "…I was _thinking_- let's go get something to eat! I can't speak on an empty stomach."

At those words, England slowed his steps for a moment, but before America could slow down too, the other caught up again, walking a bit more briskly than before. "America, you can't speak _while _you're eating either. How many times have I had to avoid the hamburger spittle! Not that I would dream of missing that wonderful experience again, but I've already eaten something besides, I thank you."

"Are you kidding? Those meetings ran for hours. When did you get the chance to eat? Wait, no, don't answer that, it doesn't matter. I've got a brand new place you'll love for sure." America needled in an effort of persuasion.

England gave a look askance, green eyes plainly saying he hadn't been swayed in the least.

America sighed exaggeratedly and placed a hand briefly on the other man's shoulder. England stopped at that, his face turning a bit red.

"Come on, we've got peace now. It's cause to celebrate!"

England stared contemplatively a bit longer than America thought the suggestion really warranted, before the shorter nation's shoulders relaxed a fraction. America pleasantly withdrew his hand, absently thinking that maybe England felt bonier than usual.

"Oh, fine." England relented, whipping around to walk through the throng of citizens. "Let's go then, and don't dawdle!"

* * *

It had only been a few short months after the end of the Second World War, but it had apparently been long enough for the United States to settle into a bustling daily life again.

The busyness of the restaurant was proof enough of that, as the two nations sat in one of America's special diners which was gaining popularity in leaps and bounds.

America tapped a rhythm out on a folded menu, impatiently watching as England glanced over his for the umpteenth time. He seemed to alternate between squinting and widening his eyes at the large red bubble letter prices as if he needed reading glasses. The land of the free snorted to himself – At his age, he probably did.

America flagged down the waitress. "Hey miss, I'll have the special combo, extra on the cheese…" America continued to rattle off his hefty order, finishing with a grin and handing his menu in.

The girl jotted it all down. "And for you, mister?"

England blinked, simultaneously surprised and annoyed at having to make a choice sooner rather than later. He dutifully gave America some cut-eye for it.

"Ah yes. Let me see, I'll have the—" England glanced at the menu _again_, and pointed. "The small size of this one. No frills, please. Thank you."

America raised an eyebrow in shear disbelief. It was only a short time after the end of the war, yeah, but there was no need to be scrupulous like it was still going on.

"The _smallest?_ England, are you dying or something? Even a _baby_ couldn't live on that." America gave the nation across from him a niggling, unimpressed look, before he grinned up at the waitress for himself. "He'll have the double beef burger with all the trimmings and sides, same as me."

The waitress nodded cheerfully and whisked the menu out of England's fingers, heading away before he had a chance to say anything.

"W-what-! I… I can bloody well order what I please, America." The Brit hissed under his breath. "You really have lost all sense of comportment." England gained a scowl, his face glowing with a turbulent mix of dismay and embarrassment.

"Quit worrying. You'll _like_ it, I swear." America said earnestly.

"That's _not_ what I-…" England broke off his speech, sighing and scowling more deeply to himself than before. "Just… never mind. Well? What did you want to talk about anyway?"

America shoved some bread sticks into his mouth and proceeded, through flying crumbs, to unload his wealth of innovational technology ideas on his wartime ally. He smirked inwardly and made doubly sure to describe the most far-fetched ones first.

"The Panjandrum was not a travesty!" England declared, nearly an hour later as they continued on a round of bickering that could only _loosely_ be called a civil dining conversation.

"Oh yeah of course it wasn't. That's how- what was it that happened again? A drunken Scotsman-?"

England's hand smacked the table and he muttered a jumble of things that sounded a lot like 'bloody moronic nations' and 'brilliant machines before their time', while he leaned back in his side of the booth.

America looked down at the tabletop and noted with smug satisfaction that, despite his earlier complaints, England had ended up eating everything.

Taking advantage to the lull in their conversation, the waitress came and collected their empty dishes, placing their bills in front of either one of them.

"Well I guess dinner is over." America announced and reached for his wallet to shuffle out a few greenbacks to pay for his meal.

England didn't retort to that, and it made America glance up at his companion who had had no short lack of words for everything _else_ that evening.

The contented argumentative expression England had been wearing just a minute earlier had drained away and the heavy scowl from before was beginning to make a comeback – thick British eyebrows furrowing in thought as England scrutinized his bill.

"England? What's the matter, do you need me to read it to you?" America leaned forward and teased mercilessly, terribly amused by the idea of England's apparently doddering eyesight.

England seemed drawn out of his thoughts. "Right, no, no. I've got it."

America couldn't quell the slight disappointment when he didn't get a riled response, but he waited amiably anyway as England twisted around for his own wallet. England was really being weirdly swift about it- flipping open the case and plucking out what he had so quickly that America couldn't glimpse much more than the motion.

England laid the crisp banknotes on the bill tray and peered at the amount once again. His hand went to his pocket to fiddle with a few coins he had there. The tousled-haired man pulled them out in his hand and shifted them around, visibly mentally counting.

A waitress walked by and England froze. Green eyes inspected the aloft money again as if it didn't add up.

America thought the whole thing was odd.

"You know, England," The taller nation said, grinning winningly as he slapped down a few more bucks to cover both their meals. He looked up and met England's tense expression. "If you wanted to hang around here a bit longer so you could praise my fantastic ideas, all you had to do was say so!"

America stood up from the booth, stretching with satisfaction as he grabbed his jacket.

England let out a breath and reluctantly tucked his loose coins away. He followed the other nation's lead and seemed to act like normal again. "Argy-bargy mess of _unconventional_ ideas, you mean. I can't even fathom who in the world would buy into them."

England's thick eyebrows were furrowed again, but they were furrowed in that familiar way America was used to.

"Don't you know how many people hate change?"

"Hey, I _know_. I hate change, too. It's always falling out of my pocket." America replied inanely, and felt a small smile creep onto his face at his companion's resounding aggrieved groan.

"Idiot! And you wonder why I'm against some of your policies! I swear by George—"

There. That was the England he knew.

As the two exited the diner, America submitted to the earful with a little less protest than he would have in the past, enduring it until they eventually parted ways. The land of the free shrugged off his weird behaviour, and England's too, while he was at it.

Both of them were probably just getting old.

America shuddered unhappily to himself at that thought as he headed for his Washington DC house. He tried not to think too hard about old fogeys, the war, or about his sudden wishing that they had hung around a bit longer. He wasn't so sure he could handle the sentimentality that came with it.

* * *

In the following weeks, it became apparent that sentimentality wasn't affecting old fogeys like America thought it would, though.

The booming young nation had been over to England's place a few times to see his soldiers about returning home, and he had casually tried inviting the stuffy guy out to all sorts of places. (Hey, between Canada and Mexico, it was a chore to actually find someone who would listen to his wild speculations of what Russia was planning to do behind all of their backs.)

…But every time, England was always either 'too busy' or thought the outing was 'too frivolous' or sometimes – when the Brit was obviously unable to think up a clever excuse – the explanation was that he 'just couldn't'.

America jabbed the doorbell button of England's house a few times and replaced his hand in his bomber jacket pocket, a determined smile on his face. When you couldn't get the foe to come to you, you went to them instead.

A flutter of the bay window curtains caught America's eye, and the blond immediately craned his neck to try and see in. Nobody answered the door, though, so America just rapped the doorknocker loudly.

"I saw you moving around in there, England! You can open up now." America proclaimed at the top of his voice. The doorknocker (shaped like a unicorn, incidentally), broke off in his hand.

The door was briskly opened by England, a frown sternly in place. He exhaled shallowly in exasperation. "I don't have the time for this-"

"Here, take it! Saw this and thought of you." America interrupted and pressed the unicorn into his ally's chest, forcing the island nation to catch the object before it fell. America grinned and pushed his way inside past a stupefied England.

"Oh." England uttered, pulling the doorknocker away from himself and admiring it. "Oh my, I suppose that's – _thoughtful_ of you. It looks just like the one I-" England suddenly sputtered and whirled, slamming the door to his house shut, the hinges creaking. "This _is_ mine! _America!_"

The British nation glowered despondently at his visitor, and while normally America would've found it entertaining, the bespectacled country couldn't help but notice how – well, how terrible England looked.

"Wow… England. What happened?" America blinked slowly, sizing the other man up.

The closer he looked, the more he noticed the deep bags underneath England's eyes and the way he seemed to be swimming in his worn clothes. England had always been on the wiry, slim side, but now he seemed so much skinnier than should be normal. He looked tired – but more than that, he looked like he'd been that way for a while.

England stared back at America before sighing thinly, setting his doorknocker down on a table and pulling his cardigan more tightly around himself. "Nothing has happened, save for you showing up uninvited." _And destroying a part of my house_ was the silent add on.

America didn't have a ready reply for once, still surprised by Britain's rather shabby appearance.

"Are you going to tell me what it is you're here for?" England bushy eyebrows rose over expectant green eyes and America felt more at ease with the normalcy of it.

"Just… in the neighbourhood. My people are seeing about getting some of the artillery and machinery home from the fronts. Can't leave all our expensive toys in Europe's backyard after all. You know how it is." America drawled out, giving England a chuffed, lazy grin that the island nation seemed to see right through. It felt too strange to admit that he'd been visiting purely out of his own accord, even when they both knew he was.

"Ah, yes." England rolled his eyes vaguely and started bustling, moving clutter and things out of the way as if his guest hadn't already seen it all strewn about already. America's eyes followed England as he shoved a small pail partially filled with water behind an armchair. Was his roof leaking?

The land of the free frowned for a moment but quickly blinked and leaned against the doorjamb. "You're starting to look like the wallpaper. You've been in here too long."

It wasn't a compliment. England's wallpaper was flowery.

"…I've been busy, America." England replied as he slowly stacked up a teacup and saucer that needing clearing.

The British nation refused to face him and America chewed the inside of his cheek, watching the back of England's head intently.

"All the more reason to take a break." America said sagely, stuffing his hands back into his pockets.

The United Kingdom's shoulders hitched irritably (probably because he knew it was true), and America was pleased to see that even in his current worn out state the other nation couldn't entirely give up a chance to give him a peeved off expression. England straightened up and rolled his shoulders back in a gesture that set off America's internal liberty bells that England was about to give a fair chunk of his mind on the issue as well.

"Dinner." America trumpeted.

A fistful of two theater tickets was thrust in front of England's nose.

"Dinner, a film, the whole she-bang!" The glasses-wearing nation clarified with a practiced smile.

A swath of red began to cover said nose and cheeks as England stared at the proffered tickets. The Brit raised a hand to ineffectively bat the arm away. "What makes you think I'm even remotely interested in watching…_Nob Hill_?" He questioned as he read the stub. "Hollywood. Really?"

America pursed his lips and only pretended to mull it over – England hadn't said no, after all. "_Because_ after you see _this_ one you'll be begging me to write all of your films from now on that's why. It's not like I even want to go with you, y'know– you're no fun. But I've got the tickets so you might as well."

England snatched one of the tickets from the United States' hand.

* * *

The film had just come out and the cinema was one of the only ones still operating in London at that time.

In one of the balcony spots, the two nations watched as the first reel wound through the projector.

It had rained on the way over, but inside the theater was warm and dark, and England was scoffing about the acting while seated beside America.

America ignored England's critiques and felt… content. He wasn't sure when he had started feeling that way, or when banter with England had become simply banter rather than a sore and bothersome chore both allies had been forced to commit to due to the war. He noticed a lot more concerning Britain these days. He supposed that that was what the UK's boss had meant by a special relationship. Close enough, anyway.

America allowed himself an amused smirk when England coughed; interrupting himself mid-criticism and causing a few of his own citizens to hush him in reproach.

"England, you _killjoy_. Go outside and do that."

England irritably elbowed America in the side, but slid out of his seat all the same, a handkerchief shakily held to his mouth to stifle his coughing as he ambled out of the theatre.

A few minutes later, the second reel began to play and America cursed lightly under his breath as he left the theatre as well. The booming nation made his way out the doors to the wet street outside where he immediately could make out England's slight form.

Bumping a fist against his leg in a fleeting unsure motion, from behind him America saw how England coughed and shuddered. It made an uncomfortable feeling coil in the pit of his stomach. The bespectacled nation saw the British one pull the once pure white handkerchief away from his mouth, and glimpsed spots of… something red.

…Blood?

"England…?" America's voice was loud and startled even himself.

England stiffened at the sound of his name and turned half-heartedly, giving America a short nod in greeting.

America suddenly felt frozen. England really, truly looked worse for wear. He gave a rigid nod back, hands tense at his sides. "I think the leading lady was about to reveal the villain. Ready to come back inside?"

England sniffed wearily and shrugged one shoulder, refusing to look his former wartime ally in the eye as he tucked his kerchief away. "If it's not too much trouble for you America, I think I would like to just stay in for the rest of the night."

A light drizzle started up to wet the streets again, and America didn't think he could begrudge England what he wanted. The two hailed a taxicab easily and climbed inside, leaving the theatre without as much as a glance back.

* * *

"The fare, mate." The driver requested once the taxi puttered to a quiet halt.

America bobbed his head in the affirmative at the man, and shifted in his seat to collect the cash for the ride home. Next to him England drew a breath and reached into his coat to presumably do the same.

America turned to the British nation to wave him off from paying, but stopped short.

It was the same like before in his house, at his diner.

This time America did catch a glimpse of the inside of England's wallet.

It was empty.

Green and blue eyes met for an electrified second, and England instantly looked away, tucking the leather pocket into the recesses of his coat. But the damage had already been done.

America was not completely oblivious, or naïve – and as he vaguely registered turning away to pay the full fare to the driver – it fell into place.

The debts left over from the war weren't anything to be trifled with. It didn't help that England's house was slowly falling apart either. He'd known about how the former Empire's colonies and territories were beginning to leave.

He just hadn't known how bad it was.

They got out of the cab and the street was much too empty, not unlike the silence which pervaded between the two nations now.

"England?" America tried.

"I-…I'm…" England tried to say something, but anything at this point would have been too transparent, too helpless, that even the spangled stars and stripes, and Texas sitting across a broad nose would not have hidden the truth of the matter.

"Goodnight, America. Safe trip home." England sighed.

America likewise could not voice his thoughts clear or fast enough and just watched as England turned and hiked his way up the long stone path to his house. The tall blond bit his lower lip briefly, eventually shaking his head.

"'Night." America said, but England was out of sight by now, and a frown made its way to the United States' forehead for the second time that day.

A constricting sense of doubt slowly rolled in the pit of his stomach as America stiffly looked away from the other nation's house.

'_England… are you dying?_' The United States' limbs felt numb as he made to find his way home, back with his soldiers.

The war was over.

He really did hate change.

* * *

End Part 1

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